The Final Day It Felt
by Azrael DiAngelo
Summary: It heard Dean. It was trying to halt, but It could not. It had no control. This wasn't right. "Do you realize what that tablet can do for us? For heaven?" I won't hurt Dean. "Yes. You will. You are." Set during S8 Ep. 17 "Goodbye Stranger"


Dean held the large block of stone in his rough hands, turning it over as he wiped off the large amounts of dust with his callused fingers in a gentle, awe-filled caress. His fingers traced patterns in the grime, in a slow motion that he was not aware, could not be tolerated right now.

"Winner, winner, chicken dinner," he said, smiling. It didn't understand the phrase, but if It did, It would roll It's eyes. It would never fully understand human expressions. It chose to acknowledge what he said anyway, for reasons It didn't understand.

"Good," It responded automatically. They told It that humans would be more inclined to follow an order if praised for their work. "Hand it to me, and I'll take it to Heaven."

"No, we'll take it to Kevin so he can translate," Dean promptly told It, thus proving any theories about his species wrong again. He had now ceased examining the hefty gravel and was gripping it possessively with both hands. Fortunately, It had arrived prepared for this type of situation.

"Right. Of course," It said slowly. It had been taught that some organisms couldn't process information as quickly as them. Perhaps Dean was one of those organisms. "I'll take it to him right away. No time to waste."

"Well, he's not that far. I've been meaning to…" he paused with clear suspicion in his dark, hazel eyes. The murky walls of the crypt cast no refractions of light upon his pupils, giving them the appearance of being a milky brown. It preferred when they were green, easily brighter when compared to spring grass on a newly mowed lawn.

It shouldn't have preferences.

"…I've been meaning to go check on him, bring him some supplies," he continued, not moving away from It, but not moving forward either. The human mind was stubborn and idiotic, it seemed. It could relate.

It should not relate. It could only relate to It's brothers and sisters.

_If the demons get their hands on the Angel Tablet, they'll kill us all._ It understood the consequences of failing this mission. It could reason with Dean. It believed Dean was a good man. _Kill him._ It prayed to Father that It would not be left with that option.

It was informed on multiple occasions that Father was deceased.

"I can resupply the Prophet, Dean," It said, apprehensively. It's impatience was increasing.

"You know, why don't, uh, why don't Sam and I take it over to him, and you can get back to your mission?" Dean stuttered, his right leg starting to slide opposite of It's direction. The handsome features of his face were calm, which actually meant all of his defenses were up, if defense became necessary. His reflexes were now as sharp as the angelic blade hidden in It's business attire - possibly more so. It was not yet sure if Dean would use offense. Why couldn't he listen to reason? It was logical. It was precise. That is what It had been taught.

Dean continued to ignore It's words by providing some of his own: "Finding the other half of the Demon Tablet- that is priority, isn't it?"

"I can't let you take that, Dean." And It meant that with every fiber of It's celestial being. The possibility of casualties rose with each tension filled breath exhaled in the small room. The hunter's face hardened into something that could be compared to a flawless marble sculpture.

The only art It should admire is that crafted by God.

But are humans not the living artwork of their Father?

"Can't or won't?" He asked.

"Both." It replied.

"How did you get out of Purgatory, Cas?" Dean asked, still retreating warily from It and holding on to the rock with renewed strength, his fingers gripping it so tightly that his knuckles turned a ghostly pale and his fingertips as red as the blood that would inevitably come from his decisions.

_You have done this a thousand times, Castiel._ Yes, and It had felt worse pain than that inflicted by a thousand cuts each time a pair of lively green eyes faded to a dead, hollow brown at the cause of It's hand. _You're ready. Kill him._ There has to be another way. It could find one. It would find one. Dean had taught It that there was always another way out of a gruesome dilemma.

Humans can not teach It anything. Humans were an inferior species.

"Just tell me how you got out of Purgatory. Be honest with me- for the first time since you've been back-" he said, looking It in the eye. He nodded toward the item enclosed between his sweaty palms. "-and this is yours."

See, It had received a way out! Dean had given It a solution! For a moment, It was so happy, It could fly. It could if It wanted to, right? It didn't want to kill Dean. It didn't have to. The Righteous Man would be saved yet again.

But It's blade manifested in It's hand despite It's joyous thoughts and hopeful situation. It's foot lifted up as it took a step toward It's human companion. It didn't understand why It was doing this! Dean was a good man- a good friend. This did not need to result in Dean Winchester's death!

"Cas," he said fearfully. He had already pressed himself against the wall opposite of It. It's steps wavered, but continued as It heard It's given nickname. Dean seemed reluctant to fight. It wondered why. "Cas, I don't know what the hell is wrong with you, but if you're in there and you can hear me, you don't have to do this."

No, It didn't have to do this. So why couldn't stop? It wanted to stop putting fear in the eyes of It's friend. It heard Dean. It was trying to halt, but It could not. It had no control. This wasn't right. _Do you realize what that tablet can do for us? For heaven? _I won't hurt Dean. _Yes. You will. You are._

"Cas, fight this! This isn't you! Fight it!" he shouted. Thunder rumbled over his melodic voice as It's angelic sword clashed with the stone.

What have you done to me? _Just relax, Castiel. Let your vessel do what you know deep down is the right thing._ It managed to open It's mouth to speak. "What have you done to me, Naomi?"

"Who's Naomi?!" Dean shouted, dodging another strike as It nearly tore through his beloved leather jacket that his father had given him.

_What have I done to you? Do you have any idea what it's like out here? There's blood everywhere, and it's on your hands. After everything you did- to us, to heaven. I fixed you, Castiel. _It didn't need to be fixed! Dean always told It to never change.

"Cas!" Dean cried out in desperation, making the ill-fated mistake of placing his hand upon It's shoulder. It involuntarily reacted by backhanding him and tossing Dean across the room with a flick of his unnaturally polished fingers. He landed on the floor, now to the right wall of where It stood.

Dean threw the first punch, which was like a foolish baby bird pecking at the concrete sidewalk. As he pulled his arm back for another "attack" against It's vessel, It seized his forearm and twisted with lightning speed and only some of It's supernatural strength. Multiple bones snapped and gave a satisfying crunch under It's unwavering pressure and Dean howled in agony, losing hold of the stone. The small boulder shattered as it made impact with the floor, revealing the tablet that was encased within. Lightning flashed in the crypt of the abandoned warehouse.

It continued It's violent assault of the elder Winchester. It doesn't know why It rapidly jabs him relentlessly without hesitation. It doesn't know why his face is bruised and covered in pooling amounts of his own blood. It doesn't know why It can't see one of Dean's emerald eyes because it's swollen shut. Please, make it stop.

Please. _End this, Castiel._ I can't. _Bring me the tablet!_ I won't. _You have to choose, Castiel- us or them._ As if It was being a choice?

"Cas. Cas. I know you're in there." It raised It's vessel's arm, ready to strike - to follow orders again. Dean's voice broke as he pleaded for it to discontinue his heinous efforts. Oh, how It would give anything in the world for It to stop…

"We're family. We love you. I love you," Dean said, more sincere about this than anything else he had been about in his entire life. He offered It a small smile despite his pain. It could read his thoughts: **I love you. I'll always love you.**

Then suddenly, It was free. Dean loved It! Dean loved It! It dropped the blade and reached down for the angel tablet, its Enochian writing illuminating It's entire being. It wished Dean could feel as free as It did now. As suddenly as the feeling had come, it left just as quickly. It saw this coming, but It would not hurt Dean. It would set Dean Winchester free.

"I love you too, Dean." It said, softly, the first and most likely last smile gracing the usually comatose features of It's face. It placed a quick kiss upon the hunter's lips- It's first and most likely It's last - but the embrace did not lack passion.

"Cas…" He whispered, love clouding his right eye- the one that wasn't swollen shut.

It picked up the blade as Dean groaned and panted in pain. It heard Dean. It was trying to halt, but It could not. It had no control. It was going to set Dean Winchester free.

_I fixed you._ Yes, It was broken and now It was fixed, It watched as the light faded from Dean- no, the thing's eyes, shock and despair still written across it's face as it bled out on the warehouse floor from it's stab wound to the heart.

It's face was wet- what did these things call them? Tears? Tears fell from It's haunted blue eyes as he watched the man- no, the thing he loved writhe painfully in his arms, dying.

It should not be capable of love.

It had never cried before. This would be the first and last time. It would follow orders now. It was a soldier. It was an Angel of the Lord. It was Castiel.


End file.
